Refined by Fire, Rejoicing in God
This sermon explores the theme of God’s refining fire, drawing from Malachi’s prophetic vision, the steadfast faith of Simeon and Anna, and the incarnational presence of Christ. Like embers that hold both the memory of fire and the potential for rekindling, our faith is shaped through God’s transformative work, burning away the superficial to reveal what is true.
The Glimpses of Grace podcast is a ministry of Grace Episcopal Church in Gainesville, Georgia. We are passionate about supporting the spiritual growth of souls, and we hope these sermons and conversations meet you where you are and enrich your soul as we all continue to make meaning in the world today.
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Transcript
How dear to me is your dwelling…my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.
There’s something about fire that fascinates us.
A flickering candle on an altar,
the glow of a campfire against the darkened woods,
the dying embers in a fireplace on a cold night.
Fire draws us in.
At first glance, embers appear as smoldering remains, the last hint of flame.
But if you stir them, if you give them breath, they glow—alive and steady.
Embers hold both the memory of fire and the potential for rekindling.
They burn away the chaff and leave behind the possibility of new life.
This morning the prophet Malachi speaks of God’s refining fire.
Malachi’s words are both beautiful and unsettling.
He envisions a messenger preparing the way, calling the people to readiness,
and then asks,
“Who can endure the day of his coming,
and who can stand when he appears?”
For the Lord will come like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap—
images of cleansing, of transformation, of making something pure.
He’s describing not a fire of destruction but of renewal,
a fire that burns away impurities so that what remains is true.
Just as a metalsmith refines silver and gold,
patiently holding the metal in the heat until all impurities are removed,
God’s refining work is done with intention and great care.
The process is not easy. It is not comfortable either…
it’s painful to let go of the illusions we cling to,
to see ourselves and the world with clarity.
But the goal is restoration: restoring a right relationship with God.
Like Malachi and the people of Judah and Israel,
we long for a world in which what is good and just is…present.
Yet, we live in distortion, where truth is obscured by noise and distraction.
Malachi reminds us: God is refining us, purifying us,
preparing us to shine in God’s presence.
How dear to me is your dwelling…my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.
Simeon and Anna stand as witnesses to a long-awaited hope,
holding onto the belief that God’s promise will be fulfilled.
Simeon, described as righteous and devout,
trusts that before his death, he will see the Messiah.
Day after day, he comes to the temple, watching, waiting.
When Mary and Joseph arrive, bringing the infant Jesus to the temple,
Simeon recognizes him instantly.
He does not see wealth, power, or prestige,
but a child born in poverty,
whose parents had only two turtledoves to offer.
He sees truth.
Taking the child into his arms, Simeon declares, “My eyes have seen salvation!”
Anna, a prophet, has spent decades in the temple, fasting, praying, seeking God.
She, too, recognizes Jesus immediately.
Though Luke gives us few words from her,
we know her response is joy.
In a world clouded with false saviors and empty promises,
Simeon and Anna recognize the real thing.
How dear to me is your dwelling…my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.
The Letter to the Hebrews tells us,
“Since the children share flesh and blood,
he himself likewise shared the same things…”
Here is the heart of truth: our God is not a distant God.
God steps into the fire with us.
Jesus, God incarnate—God-in-the-flesh, God dwelling with us—
does not observe our struggles from afar.
He experiences them, carries them, redeems them.
Jesus does not remain aloof from our suffering—
he enters into it fully, into our pain, our grief, our fear.
He knows the weariness of sorrow and the sting of abandonment.
He knows how anxiety consumes and knows the sharp edges of exploitation.
But his presence is more than solidarity; it is salvation.
He does not simply stand beside us in suffering—he transforms it.
He does not merely acknowledge our brokenness—he heals.
He does not leave us in the valley of death—he leads us into new life.
In a world that can seem so chaotic, how do we find truth?
We find it in the steady embers of faith,
tended in the presence of God.
When the world presents us with falsehood,
we seek what is real—not in the superficial, the fleeting, or the inauthentic,
but in the soft glow of what endures.
Truth is refined, not mass-produced. Reality is recognized, not imposed.
It is found in the ever-present God, in the life of Christ,
and in the deep knowing of the Spirit within us.
How dear to me is your dwelling…
Let us tend the embers of our hearts,
breathe in the Spirit’s fire,
and rejoice in the living God. Amen.